


this mess we made

by markothy



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Blood Kink, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Painplay, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Content, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Unhealthy Relationships, boy do they make a lot of them, i mean i guess, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markothy/pseuds/markothy
Summary: john seed is an absolute mess. cut away the arrogantly shrewd exterior, false confidence smeared so thickly on flesh it flakes off in clumps if you shake hard enough, and you’ll only find more violence, more pain, more wrath. at his core, his heart is nothing more than a heap of jagged edges, a smashed arts & crafts project someone tried to piece back together but gave up halfway - it’s uneven, filled to the brim with broken glass, rusty nails, and gnarly tangles of parasitic worms. it’s ugly, it’s vile, it’s…hurt.and unfortunately for rook, as he quickly comes to find, hurt is something he’s never been able to walk away from.





	this mess we made

**Author's Note:**

> god, john seed is such a fun character to write....

john seed is an absolute mess. cut away the arrogantly shrewd exterior, false confidence smeared so thickly on flesh it flakes off in clumps if you shake hard enough, and you’ll only find more violence, more pain, more _ wrath _ . at his core, his heart is nothing more than a heap of jagged edges, a smashed arts & crafts project someone tried to piece back together but gave up halfway - it’s uneven, filled to the brim with broken glass, rusty nails, and gnarly tangles of parasitic worms. it’s ugly, it’s vile, it’s…  _ hurt _ . 

and unfortunately for rook, as he quickly comes to find, hurt is something he’s never been able to walk away from. 

sex with john seed is even messier. it’s something rook would never,  _ ever _ , not in a  _ million years _ , tell his parents about. he wouldn’t even consider telling his most trusted friends and coworkers, if they didn’t already know. that’s the thing about john - aside from the mess, he’s a man with seemingly impeccable work ethic, and very, very, _ very _ persistent. surprisingly, though, nobody at the station questions him - at least, not anymore. rook’s sure it’s more because they think he’s finally gone off the deep end, that john has finally ciphoned every last sliver of self-will from rook’s body, and not because the resistance is ‘okay’ with the trainwreck of a relationship he has with john seed. the sheriff just gives him a pat on the shoulder and a look of fatherly concern every once in a while.

no, sex with john seed isn’t pretty. it’s terrible, brutal, and painful every time, leaves them both bleeding out, new and re-opened wounds all the same. it’s greedy. it’s ugly. rook, like with everything else in this fucked up county, doesn’t know how to walk away.

john is always an active participant - when he’s not busy taking rook’s cock down his throat like it’s his ticket to eden, nails clawing deep enough into rook’s thighs to scar, he’s calling all the shots; talks so fucking much, always demanding, and complaining, and pulling rook closer with tongue and teeth. it’s not that rook minds, john wouldn’t be john without his mouth, but he takes the utmost satisfaction in the moments he can send those cutting words scattering across the floor, walls, ceiling, every inch of the room, with a particularly skilled thrust of his hips or flick of his wrist. every peggie, every convert, every nobody gets to feel the pain of john’s wrath eventually, but only rook is able to wrench these noises from the man - these filthy, lust-filled grunts, gasps, moans.

sometimes he’s so loud that rook threatens to gag him the next time - keyword:  _ next time _ . “fuck, the entire damn county can hear you.”

john, of course, thinks it’s hilarious. “let them.” 

let them hear how good  _ his _ rook fucks him.

john’s nasty when he’s getting well fucked: always clawing at rook’s back, and chest, and forearms, always returning the favor tenfold whenever rook marks to bruise, like his hands don’t know what it means to be gentle. but if it bothers rook, he’s not making it known, because he takes all of it, lets it soak into his skin and fester under the surface. he gives john  _ everything _ . it leaves rook struggling to fabricate some wild story about a bear mauling to explain for all the welts and his black eye. no one believes it for a second. bears don’t carve their initials into your neck. 

his words are just as vicious, whispering all his darkest promises into the shell of rook’s ear. how he’ll never let rook slip away again, how he’ll kill as many people as it takes to keep rook on top of him, under him,  _ inside him,  _ his brother’s flock be damned. how much he’ll have to hurt rook if he ever tries to run, and rook doesn’t even want to begin unpacking the way that does it for him, but it does. the idea of john sealing the deal by writing his name in rook’s skin, handiwork filling up as much space as his body can take, shouldn’t do it for him either, but it  _ does _ .

and of course, john being john, the herald insists that rook makes a permanent mark on him, too; a “you’re mine, i’m yours” kind of thing, he had said. not that john already has a dark, little chess piece inked into his skin, but that won’t do, he did that one himself - it  _ has _ to be by rook’s hand.

this is how their relationship continues, month after month after month.

sometimes, though, john is gentler, and it’s becoming a more frequent occurrence during their nights together. rook doesn’t want to think about the implications of it. on these softer nights, john lets himself fall pliant under rook’s authority. his talons don’t sink quite as deep, his words don’t sting quite as much. it’s mostly tears, garbled begging and pleading, for rook to fuck him, mark him, ruin him. sometimes, with a little more emotion than rook expects, he whispers, like he’s speaking with god, “please don’t leave, don’t ever leave me.” rook silences it all with a kiss and a few hard thrusts.

rook doesn’t mean to, and john certainly doesn’t either, but it’s hard not to fall into a routine, not when it’s so easy, so  _ addicting _ .

it’s a horrible choice on both their parts; this affair was always meant to blow up in the end, considering their circumstances, and they knew it, but  _ fuck _ , john’s never felt anything like this before - never felt so much raw emotion, disgusting wrath, fury, jealousy, passion, uncontrollable lust, even - god, it makes him dizzy to say it -  _ love _ , before, and it’s flooding his soul, spilling out onto the floor, wine red and fated to stain. it’s overwhelming, fogging all of his senses, and it feels like a goddamn  _ relapse _ , turning him back to the junkie he used to be, but this time he’s hooked on a totally different substance. no sickly pills, no burning alcohol, just rook. beautiful,  _ dangerous _ rook. 

this was never meant to end in feelings, and they knew it, but every attempt at increasing the distance fails in the early stages, doesn’t even get a foot out the door, a wing out the cage.

so when rook narrowly escapes death while he’s out on a mission, most likely destroying more of what his brother’s made of this county, john doesn’t know what to do with himself. it’s not the usual death-defiance this time, no, john wishes it was that, because that comes on rook’s job description. this time, rook barely walks away from it, and when john realizes there’s not a damn thing he can do about it, he falls apart; stalks up and down the lonely halls of his ranch, waiting up all night for his favorite, disastrous midnight intruder to strut right through the front door because the guards aren’t doing their job, and when rook finally does, john’s a whirlwind of shrapnel and heartache as he backs him into a corner. he can’t help it,  _ fuck _ \- all his hurt, and worry, and fear surge forward, gushing out between the cracks in his composure, but it’s anger-warped and wicked because john seed doesn’t know how to show it any other way. he doesn’t cry, though, because john fucking seed does not cry; just gouges a little deeper, makes rook bleed a little longer for even  _ thinking _ about dying and leaving him behind.

and rook, like some fucking rugged, dirty,  _ pitiful _ heaven sent, just  _ takes it _ , takes it all with a shiver, and a smile, and a kiss to john’s shoulder once the storm finally settles. he’s caked in dried blood, a lot of his own and a little bit of john’s, skin matching the sheets under them, but the deputy still rises in the morning, gathering his clothes in a heap to start the laundry. john watches the muscles in his back shift under glowing skin, and he swears he sees the scars erupting from between rook’s shoulder blades where wings should sprout. the herald even wonders if  _ he _ did that, and there, in the early morning light that cascades so beautifully off the whitetails, john seed weeps.

rook returns to his side, warm presence soothing his tears, and with a quivering voice, a child afraid of rejection, he asks the deputy to stay. 

they both know it’s not just for breakfast.

**Author's Note:**

> yeah, this one is all ky's fault
> 
> my twitter is [here](https://twitter.com/shiiningfive) and my curiouscat is [here](https://curiouscat.me/shiiningfive)! also, my new tumblr is [here](https://rookseed.tumblr.com/), so please, _please_ feel free to yell about the seeds and fc5 with me!


End file.
